Worried about Me
by MorriganFearn
Summary: What do Remy and Rogue really think about themselves and their friends? Yes, it's a romy (and not a very good one in my opinion), flames welcome. It's over, done, and put to bed. That means complete, y'all.
1. Greener Grass

This is the first part of a three part one shot (yes, I know that doesn't make any sense). I was simply writing this as an exercise, and finished it in an hour, but it works better f I divide it up into three mini chapters. The next chapter will be delivered tomorrow, I promise. This is my first romy, I want flames and very aggressive critiques. This way, when I decide to write any serious romy (read: if I ever get up the nerve) into one of my real fics it will be good romy.

Disclaimer:

I don't own Evo

I don't own nada

This is my disclaimer

Have a piña colada

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Yes, I know that my poetry leaves much to be desired.

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**Greener Grass**

Everyone always is worried about me. I personally don't understand why. It's like they thing that I'll start cutting myself, or become anorexic, or commit suicide, or what ever their favorite torture of the week is.

Honestly, I walk down the hall in my own house, and they will all stare at me, as if I was breaking into a million pieces before their eyes. As far as I know, all I'm doing is reading a book. Sure, it's about the end of the world, but I have to say that when one of the protagonists is an angel who did not some much fall as wander in a vaguely downwards direction, and the horsemen of the Apocalypse ride motorcycles, things aren't nearly depressing as they seem.

I walk past them, studiously ignoring their stares, their pathetic attempts to make me laugh. They haven't figured out that I'm not really interested, that the nicest thing that they could all do is shut up and go off to the mall or somewhere and leave me in peace.

I duck into my room, shut the door quietly, and wait for it to happen. In three seconds exactly babble breaks out in the hall. It's just one decibel too loud, the laughter is just a hair too hearty.

I lean against the door and smile secretively. Now that no one is watching, I can be myself. Myself feels like curling up on my bed thank you very much. Myself may listen for a moment at the wild theories that are formulating outside my door. Myself will laugh quietly, or frown at their newest hypothesis.

Maybe I'll play a little game, guessing at which theory came from which mouth.

Let me see, ahh, yes, the one about how betrayed I feel. That would have to be Kurt. I love Kurt, he's such a nice and funny guy. Slightly out of touch, but then they all are, carefully wrapping themselves in the illusions that hold their worlds up. Mastermind could take lessons.

This next one is that my unfortunate connections with the Brotherhood are at fault. That one has Scott's private bigotry stamped all over it. Everyone deserves a fair chance as long as they are one of Us. All people are equal, just that the X-Men are more equal than others. I loved Animal Farm when I was younger. Satire has always been my thing.

A voice of 'reason' comes floating perfectly down the hall corridor. I smile and shake my head at the pure hypocrisy that comes pouring out, taking up valuable air. Jean's theory of life is that I am on the verge of mental collapse, and that 'we can all pitch in and save her by looking out for her interests until she is back on firm ground'. Jean would be such a good propagandist.

I almost feel touched by this, almost. I can't help but think that their energies could be much better spent looking for people with actual problems and helping them, rather than create imagined crises, and inflict them upon me.

Like that silent Russian that works for Magneto, he obviously has problems, and they don't bother to do anything to help. In fact, probably all of Magneto's men could use our help, bar Sabertooth and the Cajun. But Gambit's able to take care of himself, making him a special case, and Sabertooth's a basket case.

And, there's always the Brotherhood. Wanda really needs the Prof's help, and I know from experience that Pietro's not Mr. Happy by a long shot. What about Fred? We could have accepted him, given him a little kindness. Instead we let Jean toy with his emotions, and then blast him through a roof. Todd's in the same boat with the lot of them. He's a pretty sweet guy, once you get past the smell, but no one here has bothered. Of course, there's always Lance. He's the one who showed me exactly how awful we really are, even to our own. He gave us a fair chance, why couldn't we do the same?

I shouldn't really talk. I'm the one who pushed Mystique off a cliff. Too bad I didn't kill her. Maybe that's what scares me the most, I was glad that I had done it.

But, all of those kids out in the hallway don't seem to get it. I'm not falling a part at the seams. I couldn't be happier, in fact. Here I have a family.

I'm not talking about the huge extended family of the X-Men. I mean the quiet father-daughter thing between me and Logan, Kurt my cheery brother, and the way that I always know that I can go to Ororo after having a nightmare.

Everyone thinks that my mutation is a curse to me. I can't touch, so obviously I can't have any fun. In a way that could be true, but not being able to touch frees me beyond belief.

I know what people really think about me, and I don't have to pretend to be someone else for the benefit of the male population. My friends are real, and that's all that I really care about. Sometimes I feel a little jealous of Jean, but at least I don't always have to be perfect every time Scott walks around the corner.

This sounds mushy, but it is true. I enjoy having people show their true faces to me. I know everyone's fears and hopes in the Institute. I can act like a bitch if I feel like it, and nothing will change because they know that it's a part of me. So, yeah, there's a glass wall around me, but the grass is much greener on my side.

It can be a bit lonely sometimes, I guess. I like to help people. I can't ever be attached to anyone, so I want to help everyone, maybe it's displacement activity. Lately I have found that it can also be highly annoying. If you meet the wrong person.

Honestly, I want to help Gambit, I really do. But he doesn't show who he really is to anyone, not even the girl who can't emotionally hurt him. There's no way that either of us can get attached to each other, I could never be a point of weakness for him, but he won't open up. I wouldn't mind that, but he goes out of his way to run into me. Whether or not this is intentional, it is really beginning to get under my skin.

I've never wanted to reach out to someone this much before. Maybe I'm falling for romantic ideals, or something cheesy like that. Gambit's just too mysterious, too alone. It can't be healthy to be that alone.

Look who's talking. The Queen of Ice and Darkness herself. The irony in this, I manage to wall myself off from the world, and I try to help people without really caring, and I think that it isn't healthy to be alone.

The rain batters on my windows, and I turn on my lamp to continue reading as the voices wander of down the corridor. I have gotten to the part where Aziraphale's zooming around the world in astral form and Crowley is about to be killed by Hastur. Somehow I just know that I won't be able to reach the good part because I'm going to be worrying about that damn Cajun.

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Please tell me what you think, I am giving out free kudos if you push that little review button.


	2. Queen of Cards

This is the second part of a three part one shot (yes, I know that doesn't make any sense). I was simply writing this as an exercise, and finished it in an hour, but it worked better if I divided it up into three mini chapters. The last chapter will be delivered tomorrow, I promise. This is my first romy, I want flames and very aggressive critiques. This way, when I decide to write any serious romy (read: if I ever get up the nerve) into one of my real fics it will be good romy. I have discovered something, if you ask for flames; people don't give them to you. Please mull this over while you read.

Disclaimer: I don't own Evo. I hate lawyers. I hate the undead. Therefore, I have equipped my disclaimer with a flamethrower to get at both.

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**Cat871:** Your review made it in just before the deadline. Thank you very much. I love your name.

**Epona04:** You may have a kudo, you may have as many as you want for your awesome Evo/ Smallville crossover.

**Purity Black:** Thanks very much. Personally, I felt that Rogue sounded a bit too much like Jean toward the end.

**Pandora's Sorrow:** Thanks very much (I have a feeling that I will be saying this to a lot of people). I originally wrote this as a cynical look at every angst fic ever written for Rogue, but then it became a romy, and I kept it that way.

**HanatheWreck****:** Aye yup, it was Good Omens. I am a dedicated Terry Pratchett fan, and I love Neil Gaiman. While I can't see Rogue as a Discworlder, she would be into American Gods, I think. Thanks a ton.

**Soulstress****:** And thank you very much (my last thank you o' da day). I've always wondered why everyone seems to see Rogue's powers as being such a depressing curse to her. I mean, yeah they would get anyone down after a while, but maybe she sort of welcomes that freedom from attachment, from contact. As I said before, this was supposed to be a spoof on every angst fic with Rogue in it. They always give her depression of some sort. Recently the most popular method is cutting, although suicide has been in vogue for a long while, and I have fund quite a few that give her some sort of eating disorder. Don't get me wrong, I love these, but sometimes we all need a little break from that, you know?

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By the way, while it's still first person personal, the point of view isn't Rogue's any more. I assume that you can guess it without any problem.

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**Queen of Cards**

I walk out of the bar, about a thousand dollars richer. You would think that the inhabitants of Bayville would have learned not to challenge me to a game of pool by now, but they haven't. Of course, not all of the money was earned by whipping some arrogant fool's ass around a pool table. You really would think that the people of this small town would have learned by now, and told their friends, not to try and shake me down.

They have tons of advantages over the big cities here, one of them being the networks that can be created. At some point everyone knows everyone else in Bayville. I think the most distant relationship that can be formed in this tiny town is the guy who stole my car one time, but we caught him because there aren't any other orange haired, fire-loving Australians within a ten mile radius.

John was really annoyed when he discovered that he had none of his anonymity in the states. I haven't bothered to enlighten him about the life in the big cities. I am doing the world a favor by making him think that there is no car that he can steal without getting caught in the US.

The rain begins to patter down from the overcast sky, and I have just realized that it is only a little past seven. What a way to start the night, wet, cold, and kicked out of a bar because you were stealing the customer's valuable money. There aren't many places that I care to go to that are open at seven in the evening. I'll need to find some place to camp until at least ten, and maybe later. Never show up at a place just as it opens, that makes you look desperate.

I can go to the covered bus stop, the only one that Bayville has. It's perfect to keep out of the rain in, and by now there should be a considerable slew of people there, just ripe for me to grab a bit of cash off of. It's good to keep in practice. Plus, I like watching people, their reactions to things, and how they deal with each other in extreme conditions.

Not that it really matters in the long run, but who people are interests me. Maybe it's long ingrained instinct, Jean Luc always stressed that information was power, and key to survival. Being a thief isn't just about sneaking in and stealing the jewelry. It's also about being alive to sell it afterwards. One of the highest bones of contention between the Assassins' and Thieves' guilds has been that gram of information. We need information to keep our edge, and the chance for blackmail, over the Assassins.

When it comes down to it, thieves are jumped up bastards with a knack for getting away with everything up until murder. Assassins are gentlemen who have inherited a knack for killing people who have an unfortunate knack for getting in the way of the political system. If you want to keep ahead of people like that you have to play the game by their rules, you have to do it politically. Politics simply comes down to the information.

That's my on the record excuse for being interested in people. What's my off the record excuse? I don't know what it is. I just want to find out what makes people tick, I guess.

Everyone puts up so many layers over themselves, it's like they are trying to hide something. I know that I shouldn't really talk because I do it too, everyone does to some extent. I want to see the real person deep down.

It's useful to know how people will react under situations of extreme stress. Piotr, for example, gardens when he's feeling under pressure. Or he will draw, if there's nothing to garden with. Either way, can you imagine those as past times for someone who looks like he would be more comfortable in a gym? John, get this, Mr. Fire Crazy himself, reads when push comes to shove. Paper cowers in fear when Pyro's name is mentioned in conjunction with fire starting equipment, and he reads to release his stress. Just when you think you know someone, huh?

He will also write crappy romances, using his 'friends' as characters. I admit the one he started that seems to feature Mono-eye and Goody Two Shoes Jean is pretty good. I also don't find that Rocky and the Pretty Kitty make such a bad couple. But the one with me and the Rogue in it? Now he's treading on dangerous water there.

First of all, Rogue's got this absolutely disturbing habit of popping up right when I don't expect her. If I didn't know better I would say that she was _trying_ to run into me. Of course, that's just plain crazy. The girl can't touch, and she's sensible, she won't go running after what she can't possibly obtain.

In the second place, she's an X-Man, and I'm still one of the Acolytes, no matter that we have an uneasy truce. I wouldn't be allowed anywhere near her if I wanted to get close to Rogue. Not that I want to be. No, I certainly don't want that.

What's the use of falling in love with a woman (girl, she's not even nineteen) who can't touch, has a father who would willingly dice me up into tiny chunks, a brother who could teleport me to the bottom of the ocean floor, a 'mother', and I use this term as loosely as possible, who used to be an assassin (there is no way that I am getting mixed up with them again), and a private weather witch on call to zap me into oblivion? There isn't any point, or reason on Earth why I should do that.

I've hurt Rogue too much as it is, anyway. Manipulating her was the stupidest thing that I ever did. She's not just another person to me now. I can't write her off as information to be collected. I hurt her, and I owe her a debt beyond belief. I don't think that even she realizes how much I owe her.

I reach the bus stop and duck under the shelter with the other Bayvilleites. Some duck away from me, I forgot my sunglasses and my eyes are probably glowing in the gloom. Others either don't notice, or don't care. One little girl keeps on looking at me with awe. I can tell that she thinks that my eyes look cool. Well, seeing emotions isn't all that it's cracked up to be, kid.

People look at their watches, nervous of the time that is wasting before they come home to their families, or miss time on their night jobs. They look at the sky, and as if this is the signal the rain increases.

A gaggle of teens in school uniforms run into the shelter. They all fight among themselves, the silver haired girl and the busty blonde seem to be the hottest contenders, but all of them are arguing about something. There is one, who is slightly apart from the rest, reading some book, and occasionally rolling her eyes as the fight gets slightly louder.

I get out a pack of cards and begin to use the tiny stand that holds the brochures for the buses as an impromptu card table. Some of the other people begin to watch in the board way that that people with nothing to do will watch anything. I begin to cajole them, and soon a few fives have been placed down by some of the bolder bystanders. I let them win the fives back, and some more are set down.

Sometimes I win, and sometimes they win. For the most part I let chance deal it out as she wills. This is just my way of marking those that have wallets that could use a little downsizing.

Someone turns over a queen of hearts instead of the queen of spades. I smile, shrug, collect his money, and move on. That queen of hearts is n my mind though. I gave one to Rogue, a parting gift. John and Piotr both believe that it means that Rogue's my queen of hearts; both of them think that it is an incredibly caring gesture, although John has a good snicker every time he thinks about it.

They are wrong, of course. I gave Rogue that card to show her that I owed her, and owed her plenty. If I had to match the belle femme up with any card it would have to be that elusive queen of spades.

The dark queen is very hard to understand. People have this fascination and revulsion of her. Take Old Maid, versus the game that I'm playing right know to pass the time away. She is beautiful, but in the same way that a thistle is. The flower maybe soft and wonderful, but the thorns surrounding it are not.

Who am I kidding? Trying to compare Rogue to a card. It's John's romanticism at work. I tell you, that stuff does funny things to the brain.

A bus rolls up, and some people get on, some get off, and in the resulting confusion, my card game is forgotten. The teens troop on to the bus, still arguing. The book reader stares at my game for a moment. She then come up to me and says, in perfect French, "The queen of spades is currently located about four inches, or ten centimeters, up your left sleeve. If you ever are in Boston, then I believe that you owe me five dollars."

She turned and got on the bus. I stare after her and try to collect myself. Merde, Rogue has screwed me up good. I've lost my touch when it comes to dealing.

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Please tell me what you think, I am giving out free kudos if you push that little review button, epona's already collected, so I suggest that you do the same.


	3. Sittin' in a Tree

This is the last part of a three part one shot (yes, I know that doesn't make any sense). I was simply writing this as an exercise, and finished it in an hour, but it worked better if I divided it up into three mini chapters. This is my first romy, I want flames and very aggressive critiques. This way, when I decide to write any serious romy (read: if I ever get up the nerve) into one of my real fics it will be good romy.

I have discovered something, if you ask for flames; people don't give them to you. Either this is reverse psychology at work, or people believe that I have no self esteem and don't want to push me into committing suicide. I want the flames 'cause I'm not very good at writing romance (in my estimation) and I want any romy in my regular fics to be so good even romy haters will like it.

I am sorry that I didn't update this when I said I would. I just forgot that I hadn't posted this chapter, and so now I'm doing it.

Just as a foot note, I was watching Stuff of Villains recently, and this quote kinda ties in with my last Chapter:

Lance:: to Todd and Fred:: We gotta move, one of Magneto's goons is heading this way.

Todd: Like which one?

:: a charged up _Jack of hearts_ floats to the ground::

Todd: Oh, that one, heh heh.

BOOM

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Disclaimer: I don't own Evo. I wish that I did. I don't know about the rest of you guys, but I could sure use the money.

**Epona04:** Thanks, I think that romy Evo style would be different from romy comics style anyway. Yeah, every one goes on and on about how Rogue's a Queen of Hearts, but really spades makes a lot more sense for her dark gothic Evo self. I think that Jean might be a queen of hearts, but not Rogue. Your talking of tarot books is very ironic. I was just researching tarot card stuff before I put the final touches on that chapter (winks in soulstress' direction). So yeah, I did read about the first eight chapters of your fic, then something happened, and I found myself looking at seventeen chapters. I must confess that I became slightly intimidated (yeah, the person who wrote about 200 pages of Extending Evolution got worried, I am such a hypocrite. In my own defense **I loved your fic**, and if I ever catch up with myself I will review it). I might write a sequel, I might not.

**Pandora's Sorrow:** Evo Remy is smart, you have to be if you can trick Rogue the way he did in Cajun Spice. She wouldn't have had a clue if she hadn't accidentally touched him. He ain't just after the pussy, but he is a charmer. Even if all it gets him is on pissed off Rogue (did you see Stuff of Villains? She was so angry at him that she could barely talk). Yeah, I don't know about you, but when I think there isn't a noticeable accent ;)

**Soulstress****:** I liked the irony, too. You can either see it as fate won't let them stay apart, or that they _both_ are coming up with excuses to see each other, and then are blaming on the other person. Ah, the errors of love. Yes, I think that paper would be terrified of John, along with ovens, microwaves, and anything else remotely flammable/ easy to blow up. Your sum up is just perfect. I even added a bit to the story making the sum up literal.

**Enchantedlight**: thank you very much. This is the last chapter, enjoy.

**Ishandahalf****:** I prefer raspberry daiquiris myself. Thank you, I think that I have already covered all of my reasons for why I wrote Rogue the way that I did in the last chapter. No, your lack of sleep isn't causing you to hallucinate. But that was creepy how you reasoned it out. It was exactly like the way I decided to write this chapter. I need a better tin foil hat. Damn aliens, stealing my reasoning and planting it in innocent heads.

**Episodic**: Yup, I'm one of those no talkie, more writey people. Humanity is weird on general principals, and stupid on specific ones. Life is insanity on a coffee break.

**Purity Black:** John stealing cars is an idea that I started in _Extending Evolution_, and the romances thing is actually a tie in from another story of mine (I have way too many going on simultaneously) that I haven't posted because fine details are still being worked out, _Pyro's Romy_. The Book reader from Boston isn't Emma, but you were so close that it was funny. Remember the Hellfire Club's pet mutant team, the Hellions? (Another wink in soulstress' direction) I gave them a tiny cameo here. Basically the book reader was Tarot, the card girl that they had.

**UniversalAnimeGirl****:** Thank you very much. I actually did fix up most of the errors on the first chapter, but I don't really feel like uploading the edits, and I probably won't for a while. You are the first person who has found something wrong and said something about thanks a ton/ bunch/ whatever you want to call it. This chapter isn't as much character introspection, as it is a 'Stop stalking me you creepy Cajun/ evil rogue!' chapter.

**Cat871**: I liked the ending too, thank you very much. Again, your review got in just under the wire.

By the way, the point of view has finally become omniscient.

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**Rogue and Remy**

**Sittin****' in a Tree**

Kitty peeped around the door. Rogue was sitting up in bed, as usual, reading. She had a frown on her face, and Kitty wondered for an instant if this was a good time. Oh, it's never a good time, she decided, but Rogue needs to reach out more.

"So, uh, you missed lunch," Kitty paused, waiting for an answer.

Rogue turned a page in that annoying way she would As if there was nothing of Earthly interest that Kitty could say to her.

"Scott asked me to remind you about the danger room session next week. I think that he's worried about you," Kitty tried the old mention the crush's name ploy.

Rogue turned another page.

"Jean said that you missed dinner last night, too," Kitty bravely plunged on into the cold waters of the silence, "You only had a piece of toast for breakfast. I was watching," there was a slight hint of accusation in the tone.

Rogue turned another page, her eyes jumping from word to word.

"Are you anorexic?!" Kitty finally burst out, unable to stand the lack of conversation any longer.

Rogue finally looked up at the volume of the outburst, "Oh Kitty, Ah'm so sorry. Ah wasn't really payin' attention. Yah were sayin?" her eyes went back to the page, even as she was talking.

"Oh, oh, never mind."

Kitty threw up her hands in disgust, and went over to the window to admire the view. There wasn't much to admire. The rain from the night before still persisted. Only now it was a cool drizzle that created patches of mist. Not very interesting to look at.

Kitty turned away from the window and back to the bed.

"What are you reading?" She asked, curiously.

"Good Omens. It's about the end o' the world. Ah'm at the part where Crowley's car has caught on fiyah for going over this road from hell, and he's just about tah meet Mr. Tyler and try to ask for directions tah Tadfield. Aziraphale's taken over the body o' Miss Tiffany, an' she and the Witch Finder Sergeant are on a flying motor scooter bound for Tadfeild. The Antichrist, Adam, and the Them are about tah take on the Horsemen o' the Apocalypse. Or, Ah think that they will, because there's four of them, and it all fits togethah nicely that way. Ah'm still not certain what Newton Plucifer an' Anathema Device are going tah do. This book is just so awesome, an', an' yah got that glazed look on yah face. Ah'll shut up."

"No, no continue," Kitty said, her mind still slightly reeling, "I'll keep up."

Rogue shook her head. She put the book down and rose to grab another one off of the book shelf. She placed it in Kitty's hands with a rather patronizing air. Kitty turned it over to read "The Amazing Maurice and His Educated Rodents" on the cover. Underneath it was a picture of some rats grouped around a candle with a grinning, scarred cat in the background.

"Ah think that yah'll get that one a bit better. It has talkin' animals in it," Rogue neglected to mention what the animals were talking about.

Kitty liked philosophy on principal, but Rogue doubted that she would enjoy it the philosophy coming from rats, or the fact that some of the philosophy involved pissing on your enemies' food. That was only a tiny section of one character's philosophy, of course, but Rogue just knew that it would be the only part that Kitty would remember if she was told about it in advance.

Kitty laughed sarcastically. She did take the book, however, and surreptitiously read the back as she settled down on her own bed. Rogue got back to Good Omens. All was happily quiet for a while.

Kitty suddenly broke the silence, "That was the same part that you were reading this morning! I remember trying to understand your convoluted explanation before breakfast. You can't tell me that you've been in here reading for five hours. What are you doing to yourself Rogue? Is it, you know, cutting?"

"What?!" Rogue dropped her book in surprise, "Are yah crazy? Who do yah think Ah am? Pietro?" she snapped her mouth shut.

Luckily, or unluckily, Kitty didn't notice the blunder that Rogue had just made, "Then what is it? You usually zip through books."

"It's nothing," Rogue looked out the window for a minute.

Kitty knew that look, Rogue had been thinking about Scott again, "Look, if it's about you know who, I can sympathize. I mean, I have the worst luck in men, too. At least Scott's only taken, he's not the scum of the Earth," Kitty tried to swallow around the lump in her throat as she thought of Lance.

Rogue looked at Kitty, "Why do yah say that?" the incredulousness in her voice wasn't feigned.

"Because you have that look that you always do when you think about Scott. Your face is softer, sort of. You look all misty eyed. It's like," Kitty struggled for a minute to express what she wanted to say, "all of your barriers have come down. The ones that keep any of us from becoming attached to you, I guess."

"Ah wasn't thinkin' about Scott, Kitty. That kinda blows yah theory out the window," Rogue responded lightly. That was it; those romances that Kitty was reading had finally gone to her head at last.

Kitty looked suddenly thoughtful, as if she was finally putting two and two together. The answer seemed to be a four of hearts. Before she could air her suspicions, however, Jean also poked her head in the door.

Rogue started up in indignation. It was one thing for Kitty to come in unannounced, this was her room as much as it was Rogue's, but Jean had no right to be here.

"Haven't yah evah heard o' knockin'?" Rogue yelled her Southern drawl thickening perceptibly in anger.

"I'm sorry," Jean smiled insincerely but prettily, "But the Professor wants to talk to you."

Rogue threw down her book with a sigh, vowing to re-read the entire section with Mr. Tyler in it. It was the funniest section in the book and first it had been interrupted by concerns over that annoying Cajun, then by Kitty and her obsession with depression, and now by Jean.

As Rogue passed Jean on the way out Jean put out a hand to brush her shoulder. Rogue stopped startled, and slightly horrified by the touch.

"If you ever need to talk about anything I'm always here for you," Jean said quietly.

"Ah'm sure yah are," Rogue told her diffidently.

Let Jeanie make what she will out of that, Rogue thought behind the steel-like psychic barricades that most of her psyches insisted she carried.

The Goth brushed coolly passed the image of perfection standing outside her door. There was neither menace, nor encouragement in that movement. Rogue had been perfecting this passive glide for a long time. She was sick of being thought of as younger and more immature than Jean because she to had a tendency to lose her temper when the suburba girl was around.

She coasted passed Jean, and walked the rest of the way to the Professor's study, allowing herself some glee at her poise back there. She would let herself blow up at Jean over something real.

"Come in Rogue," Professor Xavier said as Rogue's hand touched the knob.

She came in. Scott always got a little worried when the Professor did that. Rogue felt that it was simply part of life at the institute and she should get used to it. She was very good at adapting.

Logan was standing by the professor looking tense. Well, Logan always looked tense. He was always coiled like a loaded switch blade, waiting to happen. This time he looked tenser than usual.

"Rogue, as you know we are opening up the doors of the Institute for another batch of mutants this fall," the Professor began, "I would like you to formally meet our first new student at the train station."

Rogue looked startled, "Why me, Professor? Isn't this usually Jean's job?"

"She asked for you by name, Stripes," Logan growled out.

"This is a very special student," Xavier went on.

For a moment something that he had said niggled at the back of Rogue's mind. Special student? She? Formally meet?

"Yah finally convinced X23 tah come here didn't yah?" Rogue whistled, "But why the train? Ah mean, every secret agency on the planet wants her. The trains ain't the safest form of transportation on the planet."

"Yeah, but how many HYDRA agents would look for a fourteen year old war machine riding in coach on a legitimate errand?" Logan quizzed Rogue.

A look of sly surprise crossed her face. She nodded and went back to her room to collect her rain gear, but thought better of it. The drizzle had let up some, and it should be gone once Rogue reached the train station.

Unfortunately the drizzle hadn't let up by the time Rogue had reached the station. It was very light and misty; it didn't so much soak as chill. Unfortunately this was perfect weather for hair to frizz as soon as heat was added.

Rogue chose a spot on the platform that was still exposed to the elements. It would cut the frizz factor in half, and she secretly loved the feel of the light droplets making it past the gauzy material of her shirt and hitting her skin.

The correct train pulled in to the station, and Rogue waited patiently for X23 to appear. She was debating in her head whether to call the girl by her full serial number, X23, or try a less retrained version like '23, when the short dark girl appeared. The only baggage that she was carrying was her scowl.

"You're Rogue," was the perfunctory greeting.

"Hi to yah, too," Rogue said with slight annoyance over X23's lack of welcome. After all, the girl asked for me to pick her up, she thought.

"Yeah, hi," for some reason X23 sounded uncomfortable, "So, is it a long walk back?"

"Not really," Rogue told the younger girl, "But yah will get wet."

"Oh."

The walked down the stairs to the main part of the station, and continued on, out into the sprinkle of rain. The mist coiled around them like an eager snake. X23 watched everything in rapt attention.

"Yes, that's a Honda Civic," Rogue said as they stopped in the parking lot to peer at the cars with intense scrutiny.

"It's so," X23 stopped for a second to consider what she was about to say, "bulky. People actually use this stuff as transportation?"

"Yeah, they do. That's a Jetta Turbo. Diesel engine. Why are yah fascinated by these cars? It's not like you haven't seen them before."

"You don't have time to stop and look around when you are being chased my international agencies. Now that is what I want," '23 had found a sleek motorcycle and was all but drooling over it.

Rogue was in the same state. Motorcycles meant racing, and she loved it. One of her favorite moments had been when she had whipped Scott in a snowmobile race on a school field trip.

"That is a Desert Mongoose," Rogue felt like she was imparting scared information to a worshipper.

"Dat also be mine," a familiar voice said from behind Rogue.

X23, her nerves and reflexes strengthened by years of training, and by the genetics given to her by 'birth' whirled as quick as a viper and struck. She struck at what was thin air. Rogue had whirled faster than X23, if that was possible, and using the knowledge that Cody had accidentally given her talked Gambit.

He looked up at the two long, and sharp adamantium claws that we just above his head for an instant. Then they slid calmly back into the hand of X23. The tiny girl put a hand down to help Rogue up.

"Ah take it dat every time Ah surprise de dark fille Ah should make sure dat mah savior is as belle as you," Gambit smiled suggestively at Rogue.

"Ah wasn't tryin' tah save yah. Ah wanted tah get yah mahself!" Rogue shouted just a tiny bit too loudly.

X23 sniffed, the chemicals rushing down both Southerner's bloodstreams were very interesting indeed. She decided to go look at the cars that were parked around the train station and let Rogue and Gambit hash it out for themselves.

"Why chere do you want tah get at moi?" Gambit asked, slightly interested.

"Isn't it obvious? Yah little stalkin' game has been gettin' on mah nerves!"

"My stalkin' game? You were de one who oh-so-conveniently kissed me when you needed my powers fo' ole Apocy," Gambit retorted angrily.

"Ah was being possessed by Mesmero then! That wasn't me doing the kissin', it was him!" Rogue stopped and contemplated that last sentence, "Yah know, that sounds wrong no mattah how yah spin it."

"Yeah. But Ah will say dat yah are de most agrivatin' girl Ah ever met!" Gambit yelled back.

"Ah'm agravatin'?! Yah the one who won't open up tah anybody who might want tah help yah. Yah lie and trick people intah givin' yah the help they would have anyway! Yah let someone intah yah life an' yah shut the door in their face! Yah so afraid tah let anyone in, when yah really want to. Arrh, yah make me sick!" Rogue finished off.

"Oh yeah, what 'bout your Untouchable act? Everyone's good enough tah be your friend, but anyone who tries tah get any closer is history! You can't let dem hurt demselves if dey get too close, so you just put up a tiny force field around you. No one can see and not want to touch, oh no, so you just put out your t'orns when somebody gets too close for yah. Newsflash, Ah-- _someone_ can love you wit'out touching you!"

They were face to face, noses about an inch away. Both were furiously blushing, although it was hard to tell because of Gambit's tan and Rogue's thick layers of make-up. They both stopped yelling at each other, and then turned away hastily.

"Ah have tah go," Rogue said icily, "X23, are yah comin'?"

She turned and walked off. The tiny dark figure of '23 detached itself from the cars, and followed. They walked about a few steps when Rogue heard the crunch of Gambit's boots on the concrete.

"Don't yah have some bar tah go drink at?" she felt ashamed of the harshness in her voice, but her mind was still reeling from what she had just heard him accidentally imply.

"Ah have tah go tah de Art supply store," Gambit said with as much dignity as he could muster.

"Why?"

"Ah left Piotr an' Johnny in dere. Ah ain't so worried 'bout de Russian, he's never happier dan wit' a can of paint. De problem is dat Johnny's also never happier dan wit' a can o' paint, flammable paint. You can always choose another way tah get tah where you're goin'."

"This is the quickest way tah the Institute. Yah can choose another way," Rogue answered Gambit.

"Dis is a shortcut," he replied and they walked on in silence.

By the time they entered the park it was an odd group. Rogue and Gambit were walking about twenty feet apart, keeping X23 in between themselves. They all walked with a nonchalant air of having nothing to do with each other.

At the point where they could see the road and the Mansion's gates on the other side of the park it began to rain heavily. The downpour matted everyone's hair down against their skulls, and Rogue's make-up began to run.

They were in a section of the park that had only one tree, and they ran for it. X23 decided not to mention to Rogue that the Institute was only a minute's walk away. She felt that there were some things that Rogue and Gambit needed to get out in the open, and she was trying to delay her entry to the Institute as much as possible. The last time that she had been there almost everyone had woken up in the hospital wing. Chances were that X23's reception would be lukewarm at best.

Gambit, however swung up onto a tree branch, and climbed further up into the foliage. He wanted to nurse his ego, and berate himself for not keeping his mouth shut in private. Rogue leaned against the tree trunk and sighed, feeling absolutely miserable. X23 decided to go up into the branches as well.

"Hey, what are yah doin'?" Rogue asked when she saw her charge disappearing among the wet leaves.

"If I stay down there much longer I'll rust or something," '23 replied, "Plus, the view's better."

Rogue followed her up. The branches were slightly slippery, but not terribly so. She just had to remember to hang on. It was nice in the misty wet world up here. Quiet, and perfect for reading in. Rogue bookmarked the place to come back to, if Kitty started in on one of her gossip columns.

"Chere, if you won't stay on de ground, could you at least find a different spot? Dis is my branch," Gambit said quietly.

"Yah drive me crazy Remy, yah know that?" Rogue said, using Gambit's real name to impress her seriousness on him, "Ah want tah help yah, but every time Ah make any progress you just shut me out," she sat on the branch next to him, "Ah've been worried about yah ever since yah took me tah N'aworlans. Ah can't get yah out o' mah head, an' I'm not talkin' 'bout yah psyche."

Gambit smiled at Rogue, "De same goes for you chere. You're addictive."

They sat together, watching the wet world. Gambit put his arm around Rogue's shoulder. She dug in her pockets for a minute and pulled up a battered rectangle of paper.

"Ah guess that yah can have this back. Ah just collected on the debt."

Gambit accepted the card, and put it into one of the many pockets in his trench coat. He turned back to Rogue and kissed her on the lips lightly.

Rogue gasped as a tiny rush of memories circled in her brain for a minute.

"Just so you know what you're gettin' chere," Remy said rather fuzzily.

He laid his head on her shoulder until his dizziness wore off. Then he just kept it there because that was where it felt comfortable. That was where he felt safe.

* * *

Please tell me what you think, I am giving out free kudos if you push that little review button. Oh, I am seriously thinking about making a sequel to this (blame epona04 people, blame epona). If you want a sequel say aye or nay in your review.


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